


A Cosmic Field Of Multidimensions With No Outer Limits To Speak Of

by versaphile



Category: Legion (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Dreams and Nightmares, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Jazz - Freeform, Memory Loss, Music, Pre-Canon, Season/Series 01, beat poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 10:57:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17000265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/versaphile/pseuds/versaphile
Summary: Oliver hates being stuck in the ice cube so he travels into other people’s dreams. And then one day, he finds the dream of two people who are also one person...





	A Cosmic Field Of Multidimensions With No Outer Limits To Speak Of

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rockinlibrarian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rockinlibrarian/gifts).



> Thanks to mossomness for betaing and to Hexiva for running the fic exchange!
> 
> For rockinlibrarian, for the prompt: Something starring the Loudermilk twins; something that takes place in Oliver Bird's astral ice cube; something involving music; but especially the Loudermilks.

The astral plane has no limits to speak of. The vast subconscious is the collective imagination of billions of minds, dreams and nightmares and unconscious thoughts and urges swirling together and apart, always changing, always new. It could be explored forever and still no map could define it. Every step is a first step. Freed from the constraints of the physical world, a mind could dance forever, becoming one with the cosmic fields. It would be beautiful.

But Oliver can’t travel as far as he’d like. 

It's quite frustrating, being stuck in his ice cube. Oh, he can leave. His friend Jules Verne can take him quite a distance -- not that distance is a meaningful concept here. But if he goes too far, the breathing hose will start to tug and some unconscious compulsion will tug as well, and back he'll go to his frozen castle of a prison. To wait, though for what he no longer recalls. To fail to remember who he is, who he was, how he ended up here. If he can be sure he's here at all. If he's honest with himself, which is a difficult thing to be when most of the time he can't remember how he feels, he's not sure he's here at all. He's not sure he's even Oliver Anthony Bird, though the name does seem to stick when everything else drifts away.

Sometimes he makes things. If he gets very excited he'll imaginify entire kingdoms to play in. But they're always disappointing, no matter how hard he tries. They're just more of him, and he's not very interested in himself since he doesn't know anything about himself and if he does remember, he forgets again. Or he thinks he does. He must, because he can't remember now.

So he travels as much as he can, as far as he can. He wanders, exploring other people's minds and dreams, even their nightmares -- though he tries to avoid the nightmares as they can be quite unpleasant. He's not sure if he can die here -- he's not even sure if he's alive -- but sometimes he meets things that have nasty claws and large teeth and he's been scratched and nipped enough times to know he can definitely experience pain. And yet healing is as simple as thinking it, so was he actually truly hurt? It's all very muddy.

When things get muddy, Oliver reminds himself: it's only real if he makes it real. There is nothing good nor bad but thinking makes it so.

Where did he hear that? Did someone tell it to him? Perhaps it was one of his parents. He doesn't remember having parents but he's certain they must have existed. Unless he's a figment of someone else's imagination, which is entirely possible. 

But then-- Sometimes he hears people calling his name. Oliver. He remembers his name so he follows the calls. They don't recognize him, and he's not sure it would matter if they did. He's met many people for the first time several times over. They never remember him, even when he's able to remember them. Forgetting seems to be contagious, or perhaps it's something to do with dreams. Forgetting and dreams go together, somehow.

Someone's calling his name now. A man this time, and Oliver puts on his suit and goes to find the dream it's coming from. It takes a while, and by the time he gets there, the man is a girl with long dark hair and intense eyes. She's on a playset swing. Odd, he doesn't think he's ever found a dream that started as one person’s and then became someone else's.

"You have to push me, Oliver!" the girl says, giving orders to-- Himself. Oliver doesn't remember ever finding another Oliver Anthony Bird in someone’s dream, but there he is. Maybe he's a twin. A twin with the same name? Or is that actually his name? Maybe it’s someone else’s after all. Maybe he just thinks he’s Oliver. Regardless, the dream-Oliver obliges, standing behind the girl and giving her a push.

Well, all of this is very interesting. Oliver walks up to his dream self and steps into him, taking his place. The diving suit vanishes as he assumes his dream-self's shape, though it's still there. The girl swings back and he gives her a push, sending her higher. She laughs, delighted. And as she swings back again, suddenly she's a boy, fair-haired with glasses. It's far from the oddest thing Oliver's seen, so he pushes the boy. But instead of soaring high, the boy falls out of the swing and lands on his face.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Oliver says, going over to help the boy up. 

"It's my fault," the boy says, defensively apologetic. He picks up his glasses and they're cracked. "Oh no," he moans.

"Here, let me." Oliver reaches for them, and with a thought, the glasses are good as new. They're not even smudged. 

"Wow, thank you," the boy says. He puts on his glasses and turns to Oliver. "Can you fix everyone's glasses?"

"I'm not sure it would be advisable to try," Oliver says. Having stepped into his dream-self, he can feel the dream pulling on him, guiding him, and he lets it happen. "Have you seen your mother?"

Raindrops start to fall, and then the boy is a girl again, and she pulls out a huge umbrella. But when she tries to open it, the mechanism is jammed.

"Here, let me help," Oliver says, reaching for it.

"No!" the girl shouts and whacks him with the umbrella. There's a surprising amount of force behind it, and Oliver steps back out of reach. The girl struggles to open the umbrella as the rain falls harder. She puts it on the ground and pries it open by hand, and the boy emerges from the umbrella. She pulls him free and they haul the huge umbrella over their heads.

Oliver creates an umbrella of his own and walks back to them. They're holding hands.

"I fear we got off on the wrong foot," Oliver says. "I believe my name is Oliver Anthony Bird."

"We know that," the girl says, annoyed. "Don't you know our name?"

"You have the same name?" Oliver asks.

"Of course we do," says the boy. "We're the same person. Don't you remember?"

"Who’s eyes collect the streets and mountain tops for storage in his memory?" Oliver replies. "Far-off red signs on the orphan highway glimmer at the trucks of home."

"We're not orphans," the girl says. “Where have you been? You're late, you're the latest."

"Dinner was hours ago," the boy says, mournfully. "We missed it and I'm hungry."

"Food is gross," the girl says, disdainful. "You're gross."

The boy is stricken. "You take that back!"

"Make me!" dares the girl.

Oliver is used to dreams. They're chaotic, symbolic, like most of the vast unconscious. These two people -- or one person -- appear to know him. If he wants answers, he's going to have to take them somewhere coherent. "If you'd like something to eat, we should go home."

"I don't wanna," the girl says, upset, defiant. The rain starts to fall harder, battering their umbrellas. The puddled ground rises in a flood.

"Oh no!" cries the boy. "I can't swim!" He loses his grip on the girl and is swept away.

"Cary!" cries the girl. Girl-Cary, if they share the same name. 

There's no true physical danger in a dream, not for the dreamer at least. So Boy-Cary isn't in any actual peril. But Oliver rescues him anyway, throwing him a red and white lifebouy that falls around the struggling boy like a perfect carnival ring toss. Oliver hauls against the current and then Girl-Cary starts pulling on the rope, too. But the water rises higher until she's holding on to the rope to avoid being swept away herself. Oliver stands firm but the water rises higher still, and then all three of them are floating in a stormy ocean. They pull together until they're holding on to each other.

"We have to get to dry land," Oliver calls to them over the wind and thunder. 

"There isn't any," the boy calls back. "We have to go down!"

All three of them take a breath and dive, abandoning the lifebouy. Under the surface, the ocean is calm and full of colorful fish. There's a reef and Oliver pulls the children towards it, holding their hands, and as they land on the coral sunlight ripples through the water. They walk along the reef bed, then up to shore where they find themselves not on a tropical beach but in a lush green forest. There's a path and they follow it.

"Oliver," Boy-Cary asks. "Why did you leave?"

"I don't know," Oliver says. "Why did I leave?"

"You made Melanie cry," Boy-Cary says, frowning at him. "You floated away like a balloon. We watched you go but we couldn't pull you back."

As the words are spoken, Oliver's feet lift from the ground. There's a string tied to his ankle and the children grab it and hold on to him, but they can't pull him down.

"Raw orange sunset, and plunging in white cloud-shore floated through vast fog-waves," Oliver recites, not sure how or why he remembers that. He reaches down to cut the string with scissors, as the dream demands, but pushes back against it. He doesn't want to be lost to these children, to himself. He makes the scissors huge and heavy so they weigh him down. He sinks back to the ground.

"Please, come with me," Oliver says. He opens the scissors and cuts a hole in the dream. Through the ragged gap, they can see the eerie green glow of the astral plane. Oliver steps through the gap and his diving suit reappears. The girl steps through first and ages into a teenager. The boy steps through and ages into a middle-aged man.

Oliver leads them over the rocky terrain and up the ladder to his ice cube. They step inside and the ice cube seals them in. To Oliver's surprise, they're still two people.

Oliver pulls off his diving helmet. "I thought you said you were the same person?" 

"We are," Girl-Cary says. She shakes her head as her mind clears. The ice cube is the only place where Oliver's mind is truly clear -- what little remains of it. "Cary, what's happening?"

"I don't know," Man-Cary says, adjusting his classes. "But I believe we're on the astral plane. Oliver, is that really you?"

"Have we met?" Oliver asks. He doesn’t recognize either of them.

"Of course we’ve met,” Cary says, earnest and concerned. “You’re our friend. We’re Cary and Kerry, we’re mutants like you, we— We’ve known each other for years.”

Ah, not Girl-Cary, but Kerry. Interesting. Oliver removes the rest of his diving suit and pours himself a drink. “Would either of you like a drink? Sorry about the cold, it's the only thing I can't seem to fix in here.”

“Where are we?” Kerry asks, looking around. She pokes at the ice, testing its reality. “This place is weird.”

"Well, there's good news, and there's bad news," Oliver explains. He hands Cary a drink. Kerry still looks a bit young, though it's not as though the alcohol is actually real. "The good news is, you're dreaming. I brought you out of the dream so you could keep me company until the dream ends."

"What happens when the dream ends?" Cary asks.

"That's the bad news," Oliver admits. "You'll forget, I'm afraid. And then I'll forget. Remembering is surprisingly difficult here, I don't know why."

"We can't forget," Cary says. He sets down his drink on the nearest surface and takes Oliver by the arms. "We've been trying to rescue you for years! We have to get you home."

"It's simply how it is," Oliver says, feeling a bit sad about it, though he can't remember why he should feel sad. "I'm trapped in this no-place, where every day is the same, where I can imaginify myself a kingdom but nothing is ever real. Tell me, how do you feel about beat poetry?"

"I thought I recognized Ginsberg earlier," Cary says. "You used to love his poetry. Do you remember it?"

"I remember many things," Oliver says. "But the finer details-- Tell me, is free love still a thing?"

"Not really," Cary says. "Oliver, please, try to focus. How long do we have until the dream ends?"

"It's difficult to say," Oliver says. "Perhaps ten minutes? Not that time has any meaning here."

"Maybe you can find us again," Cary says. "How did you find us this time?"

"I heard you calling my name," Oliver says. "Usually the people who do that don't recognize me."

"There are quite a number of Olivers in the world," Cary admits. "And it's only people saying the name Oliver? No wonder it took you so long to find us."

"I may have found you before," Oliver admits. "I've forgotten quite a lot."

"So if we're not gonna remember and you're not gonna remember, how are we gonna save you?" Kerry asks. "And in, like, the next few minutes?"

Cary and Oliver look at each other, then look at Kerry. Kerry huffs in annoyance at their blank expressions.

"Oliver, you have to remember something," Kerry tells him. "You remember your name, right? So you just have to remember you're supposed to come home."

"Home?" Oliver asks. 

"Summerland," Kerry says. "You and Cary and Melanie built it, you have to remember that!"

"Melanie?" Oliver asks. 

"Your wife," Cary says, with an air of horror. "Oliver, Melanie is your wife. You don't remember her either?" He sits down. "Oh dear, this is not good."

"Melanie's gonna be super mad when she finds out you forgot her," Kerry tells him.

"Is there anything else you know about yourself?" Cary asks, eyes and voice pleading. "Anything at all?"

Oliver considers the question. "I like beat poetry. And drinking. Oh, and jazz music. Do you like jazz? Let me put some on."

"I don't think we have time--" Cary is cut off when Oliver flicks on the record player and blaring trumpets fill the ice cube. Kerry and Cary both put their hands over their ears. 

"Ugh, that's awful," Kerry shouts. 

"Please turn that off," Cary begs.

"Oh, sorry," Oliver says, and flicks the record player back off. 

"Music and poetry," Cary says, thinking. "Maybe if we can find something that will remind Oliver to come back home--" He gets up and starts flicking through the record collection. 'Beyond the Planets,' 'Nomadic,' 'Fourth Dimension'-- Are all these albums about travelling?"

Oliver shrugs. 

"Oliver, you said-- You can make anything you can imagine," Cary says. "Can you imagine a reminder to go home?"

"I suppose," Oliver says. "But I would need to know what home was like."

"Well," Cary says, taking up the challenge. "Peaceful, green, but also-- Full of people and-- Powerful minds. Summerland is a refuge for mutants, a refuge we built together. It was your dream to help people, to make the world better, to help those who needed help most. Like you need help, Oliver. If you came back, we could help you and-- And then you could help other mutants again, like you used to."

Oliver considers this. "That does sound pleasant. I like helping people. But it's difficult to help people here, where nothing is real."

"We're real, Oliver," Cary insists. "You're real. You just have to reach out for us, for me and Kerry and Melanie, and we'll reach back as soon as we can hear you. We're still looking for you in the waking world. We just don't know how to find you. We don't have anyone with your powers."

"Helping mutants is what you love, right?" Kerry says. "So if you see another mutant, if you help them, maybe they can help you get back."

"That's right," Cary says, excited. "If there are other powerful telepaths out there, their dreams are part of the astral plane, just like everyone else's. If you can reach out to them, bring them here, they might be powerful enough to remember what they experienced. And then they can find us and we can bring you home."

"Maybe it should be a poem," Kerry suggests. "If Oliver still remembers the poems--"

"Yes, yes, a mnemonic," Cary says. "A memory aid." He flips through the albums again. "Maybe one of these tracks. Sonny Simmons, you always liked him. What was your favorite album?"

Oliver pulls one out. 

"Staying on the Watch," Cary reads. "Four tracks, hmm. Metamorphosis, A Distant Voice, City of David, and Interplanetary Travelers."

"All of Oliver's music really is about travelling," Kerry says, amazed. 

"I'm afraid that's why we lost him in the first place," Cary laments. "But we need the music to bring him back. We can't rely on him to simply remember, and if anything can change, even a written note might just disappear. It has to be something inside of Oliver, something he has a deep desire to remember. Metamorphosis -- That's easy, symbolizing change. A Distant Voice -- That could be, ah, listening for another powerful mind, even if it's far away. City of David-- That's considered to be the origin of the city of Jerusalem. So perhaps-- That could mean home, salvation. And Interplanetary Travelers--"

"Travelers need to come home," Kerry offers. "You travel and then you come home, right Oliver?"

"I'd quite like to be anywhere but this ice cube," Oliver admits. "But I can't leave for long."

Cary slaps himself on the forehead. "The cold! Of course! Oliver, we cryogenically froze your body to keep it safe until we found you again. The cold is your body's cold. So you're still connected to home, you just have to-- Follow the cold." He looks to Kerry, excited. "I think we can save him! Melanie will be so happy."

"Follow the cold," Oliver echoes, thoughtful. He's never tried that before. He was always trying to escape the cold instead.

"For your metamorphosis," Cary says, thinking aloud. "Listen for a distant voice. Return to the city of David. Like an interplanetary traveller, travel through the cold of space to come home again."

Oliver repeats all that, looking at the album as he does. It is his favorite album. Metamorphosis, A Distant Voice, City of David, Interplanetary--

He looks up, and Cary and Kerry are gone. 

"Oh," Oliver says, disappointed. Their dream must have ended, and he still had so many questions for them. He sits down and goes over the words they gave him again, again, trying to make them stick. He's listened to the album so many times, it's never failed to cheer him up. If he can just remember--

Time passes, or he thinks it does. His attention drifts. What were their names again, his visitors? They had one name, what was it?

More time passes. He's holding an album. Oh, it's one of his favorites. He should listen to it again. He puts it on and listens, looking at the album tracks. Something about them niggles at his memory, but he can't pin it down. Something about-- Distance. David. And cold, he remembers cold. But everything is cold all the time.

And then one day, something strange happens. A change in the landscape, a distant voice crying out for help. A mind as powerful as his own. And a name, a familiar name said over and over.

David.

Oliver suits up, compelled somehow to-- Help David. Help him-- With cold. Bring him to the ice cube. If he does that-- If he does that--

Oliver can't remember what's supposed to happen. But he queues up his favorite album and feels somehow that if he can help David, everything will be all right.


End file.
